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THE NINTH DAY of the eighth lunar month, 1939. My father, a bandit’s offspring who had passedhis fifteenth birthday, was joining the forces of Commander Yu Zhan’ao, a man destined2 tobecome a legendary3 hero, to ambush4 a Japanese convoy5 on the Jiao-Ping highway. Grandma, apadded jacket over her shoulders, saw them to the edge of the village. ‘Stop here,’ CommanderYu ordered her. She stopped.
‘Douguan, mind your foster-dad,’ she told my father. The sight of her large frame and thewarm fragrance6 of her lined jacket chilled him. He shivered. His stomach growled7.
Commander Yu patted him on the head and said, ‘Let’s go, foster-son.’
Heaven and earth were in turmoil8, the view was blurred9. By then the soldiers’ muffledfootsteps had moved far down the road. Father could still hear them, but a curtain of blue mistobscured the men themselves. Gripping tightly to Commander Yu’s coat, he nearly flew downthe path on churning legs. Grandma receded10 like a distant shore as the approaching sea of mistgrew more tempestuous11; holding on to Commander Yu was like clinging to the railing of a boat.
That was how Father rushed towards the uncarved granite12 marker that would rise above hisgrave in the bright-red sorghum fields of his hometown. A bare-assed little boy once led a whitebilly goat up to the weed-covered grave, and as it grazed in unhurried contentment, the boypissed furiously on the grave and sang out: ‘The sorghum is red – the Japanese are coming –compatriots, get ready – fire your rifles and cannons13 –’
Someone said that the little goatherd was me, but I don’t know. I had learned to love NortheastGaomi Township with all my heart, and to hate it with unbridled fury. I didn’t realise until I’dgrown up that Northeast Gaomi Township is easily the most beautiful and most repulsive17, mostunusual and most common, most sacred and most corrupt18, most heroic and most bastardly,hardest-drinking and hardest-loving place in the world. The people of my father’s generation wholived there ate sorghum out of preference, planting as much of it as they could. In late autumn,during the eighth lunar month, vast stretches of red sorghum shimmered19 like a sea of blood. Talland dense20, it reeked21 of glory; cold and graceful22, it promised enchantment23; passionate24 and loving,it was tumultuous.
The autumn winds are cold and bleak25, the sun’s rays intense. White clouds, full and round,float in the tile-blue sky, casting full round purple shadows onto the sorghum fields below. Overdecades that seem but a moment in time, lines of scarlet26 figures shuttled among the sorghumstalks to weave a vast human tapestry27. They killed, they looted, and they defended their countryin a valiant28, stirring ballet that makes us unfilial descendants who now occupy the land pale bycomparison. Surrounded by progress, I feel a nagging29 sense of our species’ regression.
After leaving the village, the troops marched down a narrow dirt path, the tramping of their feetmerging with the rustling30 of weeds. The heavy mist was strangely animated31, kaleidoscopic32. Tinydroplets of water pooled into large drops on Father’s face, clumps33 of hair stuck to his forehead.
He was used to the delicate peppermint35 aroma36 and the slightly sweet yet pungent37 odour of ripesorghum wafting38 over from the sides of the path – nothing new there. But as they marchedthrough the heavy mist, his nose detected a new, sickly-sweet odour, neither yellow nor red,blending with the smells of peppermint and sorghum to call up memories hidden deep in his soul.
Six days later, the fifteenth day of the eighth month, the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival. Abright round moon climbed slowly in the sky above the solemn, silent sorghum fields, bathing thetassels in its light until they shimmered like mercury. Among the chiselled39 flecks40 of moonlightFather caught a whiff of the same sickly odour, far stronger than anything you might smell today.
Commander Yu was leading him by the hand through the sorghum, where three hundred fellowvillagers, heads pillowed on their arms, were strewn across the ground, their fresh blood turningthe black earth into a sticky muck that made walking slow and difficult. The smell took theirbreath away. A pack of corpse41-eating dogs sat in the field staring at Father and Commander Yuwith glinting eyes. Commander Yu drew his pistol and fired – a pair of eyes was extinguished.
Another shot, another pair of eyes gone. The howling dogs scattered42, then sat on their haunchesonce they were out of range, setting up a deafening43 chorus of angry barks as they gazed greedily,longingly at the corpses44. The odour grew stronger.
‘Jap dogs!’ Commander Yu screamed. ‘Jap sons of bitches!’ He emptied his pistol, scatteringthe dogs without a trace. ‘Let’s go, son,’ he said. The two of them, one old and one young,threaded their way through the sorghum field, guided by the moon’s rays. The odour saturatingthe field drenched46 Father’s soul and would be his constant companion during the cruel monthsand years ahead.
Sorghum stems and leaves sizzled fiercely in the mist. The Black Water River, which flowedslowly through the swampy47 lowland, sang in the spreading mist, now loud, now soft, now far,now near. As they caught up with the troops, Father heard the tramping of feet and some coarsebreathing fore34 and aft. The butt48 of a rifle noisily bumped someone else’s. A foot crushed whatsounded like a human bone. The man in front of Father coughed loudly. It was a familiar cough,calling to mind large ears that turned red with excitement. Large transparent49 ears covered withtiny blood vessels50 were the trademark51 of Wang Wenyi, a small man whose enlarged head wastucked down between his shoulders.
Father strained and squinted52 until his gaze bored through the mist: there was Wang Wenyi’shead, jerking with each cough. Father thought back to when Wang was whipped on the paradeground, and how pitiful he had looked. He had just joined up with Commander Yu. Adjutant Renordered the recruits: Right face! Wang Wenyi stomped53 down joyfully54, but where he intended to‘face’ was anyone’s guess. Adjutant Ren smacked55 him across the backside with his whip, forcinga yelp56 from between his parted lips. Ouch, mother of my children! The expression on his facecould have been a cry, or could have been a laugh. Some kids sprawled57 atop the wall hootedgleefully.
Now Commander Yu kicked Wang Wenyi in the backside.
‘Who said you could cough?’
‘Commander Yu?.?.?.’ Wang Wenyi stifled58 a cough. ‘My throat itches45.?.?.?.’
‘So what? If you give away our position, it’s your head!’
‘Yes, sir,’ Wang replied, as another coughing spell erupted.
Father sensed Commander Yu lurching forward to grab Wang Wenyi around the neck withboth hands. Wang wheezed59 and gasped60, but the coughing stopped.
Father also sensed Commander Yu’s hands release Wang’s neck; he even sensed the purplewelts, like ripe grapes, left behind. Aggrieved61 gratitude62 filled Wang’s deep-blue, frightened eyes.
The troops turned quickly into the sorghum, and Father knew instinctively63 that they wereheading southeast. The dirt path was the only direct link between the Black Water River and thevillage. During the day it had a pale cast; the original black earth, the colour of ebony, had beencovered by the passage of countless64 animals: cloven hoofprints of oxen and goats, semicircularhoofprints of mules65, horses, and donkeys; dried road apples left by horses, mules, and donkeys;wormy cow chips; and scattered goat pellets like little black beans. Father had taken this path sooften that later on, as he suffered in the Japanese cinder66 pit, its image often flashed before hiseyes. He never knew how many sexual comedies my grandma had performed on this dirt path,but I knew. And he never knew that her naked body, pure as glossy67 white jade68, had lain on theblack soil beneath the shadows of sorghum stalks, but I knew.
The surrounding mist grew more sluggish69 once they were in the sorghum field. The stalksscreeched in secret resentment71 when the men and equipment bumped against them, sendinglarge, mournful beads72 of water splashing to the ground. The water was ice- cold, clear andsparkling, and deliciously refreshing73. Father looked up, and a large drop fell into his mouth. Asthe heavy curtain of mist parted gently, he watched the heads of sorghum stalks bend slowlydown. The tough, pliable74 leaves, weighted down by the dew, sawed at his clothes and face. Abreeze set the stalks above him rustling briefly75; the gurgling of the Black Water River grewlouder.
Father had gone swimming so often in the Black Water River that he seemed born to it.
Grandma said that the sight of the river excited him more than the sight of his own mother. At theage of five, he could dive like a duckling, his little pink asshole bobbing above the surface, hisfeet sticking straight up. He knew that the muddy riverbed was black and shiny, and as spongy assoft tallow, and that the banks were covered with pale-green reeds and plantain the colour ofgoose- down; coiling vines and stiff bone grass hugged the muddy ground, which wascrisscrossed with the tracks of skittering crabs76.
Autumn winds brought cool air, and wild geese flew through the sky heading south, theirformation changing from a straight line one minute to a V the next. When the sorghum turnedred, hordes78 of crabs the size of horse hooves scrambled79 onto the bank at night to search for food– fresh cow dung and the rotting carcasses of dead animals – among the clumps of river grass.
The sound of the river reminded Father of an autumn night during his childhood, when theforeman of our family business, Arhat Liu, named after Buddhist80 saints, took him crabbing81 on theriverbank. On that grey- purple night a golden breeze followed the course of the river. Thesapphire-blue sky was deep and boundless82, green-tinted stars shone brightly in the sky: the ladleof Ursa Major (signifying death), the basket of Sagittarius (representing life); Octans, the glasswell, missing one of its tiles; the anxious Herd15 Boy (Altair), about to hang himself; the mournfulWeaving Girl (Vega), about to drown herself in the river.?.?.?. Uncle Arhat had been overseeingthe work of the family distillery for decades, and Father scrambled to keep up with him as hewould his own grandfather.
The weak light of the kerosene83 lamp bored a five-yard hole in the darkness. When waterflowed into the halo of light, it was the cordial yellow of an overripe apricot. But cordial for onlya fleeting84 moment, before it flowed on. In the surrounding darkness the water reflected a starrysky. Father and Uncle Arhat, rain capes85 over their shoulders, sat around the shaded lamp listeningto the low gurgling of the river. Every so often they heard the excited screech70 of a fox calling toits mate in the sorghum fields beside the river. Father and Uncle Arhat sat quietly, listening withrapt respect to the whispered secrets of the land, as the smell of stinking87 river mud drifted overon the wind. Hordes of crabs attracted by the light skittered towards the lamp, where they formeda shifting, restless cloister88. Father was so eager he nearly sprang to his feet, but Uncle Arhat heldhim by the shoulders.
‘Take it easy! Greedy eaters never get the hot gruel89.’ Holding his excitement in check, Fathersat still. The crabs stopped as soon as they entered the ring of lamplight, and lined up head to tail,blotting out the ground. A greenish glint issued from their shells, as countless pairs of button eyespopped from deep sockets90 on little stems. Mouths hidden beneath sloping faces released frothystrings of brazenly91 colourful bubbles. The long fibres on Father’s straw rain cape86 stood up.
‘Now!’ Uncle Arhat shouted. Father sprang into action before the shout died out, snatching twocorners of the tightly woven net they’d spread on the ground beforehand; they raised it in the air,scooping up a layer of crabs and revealing a clear spot of riverbank beneath them. Quickly tyingthe ends together and tossing the net to one side, they rushed back and lifted up another piece ofnetting with the same speed and skill. The heavy bundles seemed to hold hundreds, eventhousands of crabs.
As Father followed the troops into the sorghum field, he moved sideways, crablike92, overshootingthe spaces between the stalks and bumping them hard, which caused them to sway and bendviolently. Still gripping tightly to Commander Yu’s coat-tail, he was pulled along, his feet barelytouching the ground. But he was getting sleepy. His neck felt stiff, his eyes were growing dulland listless, and his only thought was that as long as he could tag along behind Uncle Arhat to theBlack Water River he’d never come back empty-handed.
Father ate crab77 until he was sick of it, and so did Grandma. But even though they lost theirappetite for it, they couldn’t bear to throw the uneaten ones away. So Uncle Arhat minced93 theleftovers and ground them under the bean-curd millstone, then salted the crab paste, which theyate daily, until it finally went bad and became mulch for the poppies.
Apparently94 Grandma was an opium95 smoker96, but wasn’t addicted97, which was why she had thecomplexion of a peach, a sunny disposition98, and a clear mind. The crab-nourished poppies grewhuge and fleshy, a mixture of pinks, reds, and whites that assailed99 your nostrils100 with theirfragrance. The black soil of my hometown, always fertile, was especially productive, and thepeople who tilled it were especially decent, strong-willed, and ambitious. The white eels101 of theBlack Water River, like plump sausages with tapered102 ends, foolishly swallowed every hook insight.
Uncle Arhat had died the year before on the Jiao-Ping highway. His corpse, after being hacked103 topieces, had been scattered around the area. As the skin was being stripped from his body, hisflesh jumped and quivered, as if he were a huge skinned frog. Images of that corpse sent shiversup Father’s spine104. Then he thought back to a night some seven or eight years earlier, whenGrandma, drunk at the time, had stood in the distillery yard beside a pile of sorghum leaves, herarms around Uncle Arhat’s shoulders. ‘Uncle?.?.?. don’t leave,’ she pleaded. ‘If not for the sake ofthe monk105, stay for the Buddha106. If not for the sake of the fish, stay for the water. If not for mysake, stay for little Douguan. You can have me, if you want.?.?.?. You’re like my own father.?.?.?.’
Father watched him push her away and swagger into the shed to mix fodder107 for the two largeblack mules who, when we opened our distillery, made us the richest family in the village. UncleArhat didn’t leave after all. Instead he became our foreman, right up to the day the Japaneseconfiscated our mules to work on the Jiao-Ping highway.
Now Father and the others could hear long-drawn-out brays108 from the mules they had left behindin the village. Wide-eyed with excitement, he could see nothing but the congealed109 yet nearlytransparent mist that surrounded him. Erect110 stalks of sorghum formed dense barriers behind awall of vapour. Each barrier led to another, seemingly endless. He had no idea how long they’dbeen in the field, for his mind was focused on the fertile river roaring in the distance, and on hismemories. He wondered why they were in such a hurry to squeeze through this packed, dreamyocean of sorghum. Suddenly he lost his bearings. He listened carefully for a sign from the river,and quickly determined111 that they were heading east-southeast, towards the river. Once he had afix on their direction, he understood that they would be setting an ambush for the Japanese, thatthey would be killing112 people, just as they had killed the dogs. By heading east-southeast, theywould soon reach the Jiao-Ping highway, which cut through the swampy lowland from north tosouth and linked the two counties of Jiao and Pingdu. Japanese and their running dogs, Chinesecollaborators, had built the highway with the forced labour of local conscripts.
The sorghum was set in motion by the exhausted113 troops, whose heads and necks were soakedby the settling dew. Wang Wenyi was still coughing, even though he’d been the target ofCommander Yu’s continuing angry outbursts. Father sensed that the highway was just up ahead,its pale-yellow outline swaying in front of him. Imperceptibly tiny openings began to appear inthe thick curtain of mist, and one dew-soaked ear of sorghum after another stared sadly at Father,who returned their devout114 gaze. It dawned on him that they were living spirits: their roots buriedin the dark earth, they soaked up the energy of the sun and the essence of the moon; moistened bythe rain and dew, they understood the ways of the heavens and the logic115 of the earth. The colourof the sorghum suggested that the sun had already turned the obscured horizon a pathetic red.
Then something unexpected occurred. Father heard a shrill116 whistle, followed by a loud burstfrom up ahead.
‘Who fired his weapon?’ Commander Yu bellowed117. ‘Who’s the prick118 who did it?’
Father heard the bullet pierce the thick mist and pass through sorghum leaves and stalks,lopping off one of the heads. Everyone held his breath as the bullet screamed through the air andthudded to the ground. The sweet smell of gunpowder119 dissipated in the mist. Wang Wenyiscreamed pitifully, ‘Commander – my head’s gone – Commander – my head’s gone –’
Commander Yu froze momentarily, then kicked Wang Wenyi. ‘You dumb fuck!’ he growled.
‘How could you talk without a head?’
Commander Yu left my father standing120 there and went up to the head of the column. WangWenyi was still howling. Father pressed forward to catch a glimpse of the strange look onWang’s face. A dark-blue substance was flowing on his cheek. Father reached out to touch it; hotand sticky, it smelled a lot like the mud of the Black Water River, but fresher. It overwhelmedthe smell of peppermint and the pungent sweetness of sorghum and awakened121 in Father’s mind amemory that drew ever nearer: like beads, it strung together the mud of the Black Water River,the black earth beneath the sorghum, the eternally living past, and the unstoppable present. Thereare times when everything on earth spits out the stench of human blood.
‘Uncle,’ Father said, ‘you’re wounded.’
‘Douguan, is that you? Tell your old uncle if his head’s still on his neck.’
‘It’s there, Uncle, right where it’s supposed to be. Except your ear’s bleeding.’
Wang Wenyi reached up to touch his ear and pulled back a bloody122 hand, yelping123 in alarm.
Then he froze as if paralysed. ‘Commander, I’m wounded! I’m wounded!’
Commander Yu came back to Wang, knelt down, and put his hands around Wang’s neck.
‘Stop screaming or I’ll throttle124 you!’
Wang Wenyi didn’t dare make a sound.
‘Where were you hit?’ Commander Yu asked him.
‘My ear?.?.?.’ Wang was weeping.
Commander Yu took a piece of white cloth from his waistband and tore it in two, then handedit to him. ‘Hold this over it, and no more noise. Stay in rank. You can bandage it when we reachthe highway.’
Commander Yu turned to Father. ‘Douguan,’ he barked. Father answered, and Commander Yuwalked off holding him by the hand, followed by the whimpering Wang Wenyi.
The offending discharge had been the result of carelessness by the big fellow they called Mute,who was up front carrying a rake on his shoulder. The rifle slung125 over his back had gone offwhen he stumbled. Mute was one of Commander Yu’s old bandit friends, a greenwood hero whohad eaten fistcakes in the sorghum fields. One of his legs was shorter than the other – a prenatalinjury – and he limped when he walked, but that didn’t slow him down. Father was a little afraidof him.
At about dawn, the massive curtain of mist finally lifted, just as Commander Yu and his troopsemerged onto the Jiao-Ping highway. In my hometown, August is the misty126 season, possiblybecause there’s so much swampy lowland. Once he stepped onto the highway, Father feltsuddenly light and nimble; with extra spring in his step, he let go of Commander Yu’s coat.
Wang Wenyi, on the other hand, wore a crestfallen127 look as he held the cloth to his injured ear.
Commander Yu crudely wrapped it for him, covering up half his head. Wang gnashed his teeth inpain.
‘The heavens have smiled on you,’ Commander Yu said.
‘My blood’s all gone,’ Wang whimpered, ‘I can’t go on!’
‘Bullshit!’ Commander Yu exclaimed. ‘It’s no worse than a mosquito bite. You haven’tforgotten your three sons, have you?’
Wang hung his head and mumbled128, ‘No, I haven’t forgotten.’
The butt of the long-barrelled fowling129 piece over his shoulder was the colour of blood. A flatmetal gunpowder pouch130 rested against his hip16.
Remnants of the dissipating mist were scattered throughout the sorghum field. There wereneither animal nor human footprints in the gravel131, and the dense walls of sorghum on thedeserted highway made the men feel that something ominous132 was in the air. Father knew allalong that Commander Yu’s troops numbered no more than forty – deaf, mute, and crippledincluded. But when they were quartered in the village, they had stirred things up so much, withchickens squawking and dogs yelping, that you’d have thought it was a garrison133 command.
Out on the highway, the soldiers huddled134 so closely together they looked like an inert135 snake.
Their motley assortment136 of weapons included shotguns, fowling pieces, ageing Hanyang rifles,plus a cannon14 that fired scale weights and was carried by two brothers, Fang137 Six and Fang Seven.
Mute was toting a rake with twenty-six metal tines, as were three other soldiers. Father stilldidn’t know what an ambush was, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have known why anyonewould take four rakes to the event.
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1
sorghum
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| n.高粱属的植物，高粱糖浆，甜得发腻的东西 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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cannons
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| n.加农炮，大炮，火炮( cannon的名词复数 ) | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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peppermint
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| n.薄荷，薄荷油，薄荷糖 | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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wafting
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的现在分词 ) | |
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39
chiselled
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| adj.凿过的，凿光的； （文章等）精心雕琢的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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40
flecks
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| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
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41
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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42
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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43
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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44
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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45
itches
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| n.痒( itch的名词复数 )；渴望，热望v.发痒( itch的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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47
swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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48
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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49
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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50
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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51
trademark
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| n.商标；特征；vt.注册的…商标 | |
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52
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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53
stomped
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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55
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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57
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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58
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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59
wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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61
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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62
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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63
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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64
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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65
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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66
cinder
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| n.余烬，矿渣 | |
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67
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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68
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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69
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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70
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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71
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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72
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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73
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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74
pliable
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| adj.易受影响的；易弯的；柔顺的，易驾驭的 | |
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75
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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76
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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77
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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78
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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79
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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80
Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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81
crabbing
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| v.捕蟹( crab的现在分词 ) | |
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82
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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83
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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84
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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85
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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86
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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87
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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88
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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89
gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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90
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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91
brazenly
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| adv.厚颜无耻地；厚脸皮地肆无忌惮地 | |
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92
crablike
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| adj.似蟹的，似蟹行般的 | |
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93
minced
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| v.切碎( mince的过去式和过去分词 )；剁碎；绞碎；用绞肉机绞（食物，尤指肉） | |
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94
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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95
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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96
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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97
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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98
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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99
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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100
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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101
eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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102
tapered
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| adj. 锥形的，尖削的，楔形的，渐缩的，斜的 动词taper的过去式和过去分词 | |
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103
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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104
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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105
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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106
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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107
fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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108
brays
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| n.驴叫声，似驴叫的声音( bray的名词复数 )；（喇叭的）嘟嘟声v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的第三人称单数 )；发嘟嘟声；粗声粗气地讲话（或大笑）；猛击 | |
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109
congealed
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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110
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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111
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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112
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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113
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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114
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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115
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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116
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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117
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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118
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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119
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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120
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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121
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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122
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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123
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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124
throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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125
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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126
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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127
crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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128
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
fowling
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| 捕鸟，打鸟 | |
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130
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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131
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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132
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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133
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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134
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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135
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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136
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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137
fang
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| n.尖牙，犬牙 | |
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